


You Don't Speak Flower?

by CrimsonRoseBlooms



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Ballet, Flowers, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ice Skating, Insecurity, Jealous Otabek Altin, Language of Flowers, M/M, Motorcycles, Oblivious Otabek Altin, Otabek likes flowers, Otabek works, Prompt Fic, Stereotypes, Tumblr Prompt, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonRoseBlooms/pseuds/CrimsonRoseBlooms
Summary: This was Yuri Plisetsky, the winner of the junior division of practically every skating competition in the world. More importantly, he was something akin to an idol in Otabek’s eyes. That’s why Otabek stared blankly at Yuri as he strutted to the counter.He slammed his hand down but Otabek didn’t flinch. He was still too shocked.“Hey. How do I passive-aggressively say ‘Fuck You’ in flower?”~In which Otabek works in a flower shop and meets a familiar face who complains without restraint.





	You Don't Speak Flower?

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw a prompt on tumblr and had the time to do it; here’s the result. It started off as just a laughable piece of work but now I’m quite proud of it. It was a joy to write even though I spent hours online googling the meaning of flowers. (Worth it, imo.) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it too :)

Like any filial son, Otabek agreed to run the flower shop while his parents visited relatives in Kazakhstan. Although he hadn’t worked there for over a decade, it still seemed like a better option than being stuck in a room full of people he didn’t care to know. At least in Russia, the customers didn’t try to hug you and ask what you were doing with your life.

Running a small flower shop for a week didn’t seem like a difficult task. All he had to do was clean, make sure all the flowers were upright and he was done. Barely anybody buys flowers nowadays. Otabek had told his parents to sell the place but sentiment was deeply imbedded in them.

He sighed as he flipped the sign to ‘Open’.

His parents weren’t that young anymore. They ought to be travelling the world now that Otabek didn’t need looking after. Maybe they’d feel better if he let the idea of becoming a professional skater disappear from his head. He could find a steady job. He could start providing for his family. Then maybe his parents wouldn’t have to work so hard. But then they would have moved to Russia for no reason.

Just as he seated himself behind the counter, the door slammed open. In stormed a small Russian teen. Although he was dressed in leopard print and a pair of shades covered his eyes, Otabek recognised him instantly.

This was Yuri Plisetsky, the winner of the junior division of practically every skating competition in the world. More importantly, he was something akin to an idol in Otabek’s eyes. That’s why Otabek stared blankly at Yuri as he strutted to the counter.

He slammed his hand down but Otabek didn’t flinch. He was still too shocked.

“Hey. How do I passive-aggressively say ‘Fuck You’ in flower?”

The silence felt so heavy he was suffocating on it. How was he supposed to respond to such a request? He swallowed and felt the lump go down. He shouldn’t feel nervous over a customer, no matter who they were.

“Orange lilies.”

“What?” Yuri scowled. He tugged off his shades with such viciousness that Otabek felt like retreating. Those piercing emerald eyes didn’t belong to someone the age of sixteen.

“Orange lilies mean hatred.”

“Oh.”

His expression softened so quickly that Otabek was shocked - perhaps even more than when he first came barging in. When he watched Yuri at competitions, he never held much expression. Even when Yuri won gold, he would rarely offer a smile. Now he could clearly see that he was only a boy. A very attractive boy.

“Are there other flowers?” he inquired in a softer tone, “That hold similar meaning.”

“A black rose.”

“Anything else?”  
  
Otabek racked his brain. Young girls often came in with similar requests. Often it was with hidden meanings like, ‘I secretly admire you’ or ‘I wish you the best of luck’. But he had to say this was the first time for… crude words.

“It’s not like I _hate_ him,” Yuri exasperated as if Otabek had somehow silently egged him on, “He just frustrates me. He’s so annoying. Everything he does makes me want to punch him in the face. He promises me one thing and does another. What is that supposed to mean?”

“Geraniums? For stupidity.”

“He’s stupid alright. There’s so much to be doing but he drops everything and runs off to Japan. He left me behind and forgot all about our promise. How is he so half-assed yet still gets everything perfectly? He has the whole world in the palm of his hand, that silver-haired bastard. I hope he goes bald.”

Although imagining this man who wronged Yuri was certainly entertaining, Otabek was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of rude flowers. None of those ‘Language of Flowers’ books seemed to be helping. In all fairness, it had been a long time since he looked at one.

“You’re sending these flowers abroad?”

“Yeah. Right to his doorstep. Him and that fat piggy,” snarled Yuri, cold eyes narrowing again.

“I’m afraid we don’t offer that kind of service. From St Petersburg to…”

“Hasetsu.”

“Hasetsu. That’s too long of a distance for flowers to travel. They’d wilt during transport. It might be cheaper just to take them on a plane with you.”

Yuri’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. It made Otabek feel slightly guilty. He was about to suggest some website that could do flower deliveries to Japan when Yuri slapped his hand on the counter again, eyes glittering with excitement.

“You’re right! I can just fly over to Hasetsu. My visa hasn’t expired and I have enough points to get a ticket. What’s your name?”

“Otabek.”

Yuri smiled at him. “I’m Yuri. So since you get the whole situation, you can get me a bouquet, right? One with those… geraniums. I trust you. I’ll cover the cost, however much it is. Can I get them tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he answered instinctively but he was secretly thinking about what Yuri meant by ‘the whole situation’. He understood Yuri was angry at a guy for breaking a promise and going as far as to immigrant to another country. But he couldn’t even say that for certain. He didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was family? A close friend? A lover?

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks Otabek!”

And then Yuri Plisetsky left.

The tiny bell was left jingling behind and Otabek stood there amazed. His first customer of the day turned out to be the figure skating Prima Donna, Yuri Plisetsky. He had been trusted to somehow create a bouquet for him to take to Japan. Otabek wasn’t even sure that he knew how to do that anymore but he was still happy. Happy because Yuri Plisetsky knew his name.

* * *

After years of negligence, it was expected that Otabek couldn’t remember how to properly wrap a bouquet. He had the basic skills to bound a bunch of weeds together but he was never interested enough to master it. Luckily, all the flowers that he uttered during that unfortunate meeting were available in the shop. He had no idea how his parents managed to compile this large range of flowers in such a tiny place but he was thankful.

As requested, he found the geraniums for stupidity. Would any smart man do Yuri wrong? He seemed like the type to never forgive and never forget. And he wasn’t wrong to do that. What type of person went back on their word?

Perhaps there were some extraordinary circumstances, Otabek reasoned. For instance, Yuri’s lover might have contracted some deadly disease and needed to travel to Japan for treatment. But if so, why was he living with the ‘fat piggy’ Yuri mentioned earlier? Maybe that was the doctor?

Today was a strange day for him. Usually, he judged based on what he knew. He didn’t come up with excuses, especially not for other people.

Otabek had to dig out the ‘Flower Dictionary’ from storage (since his parents clearly had no need for it anymore). He sat himself down and flicked through slowly, trying to match what he was reading with the flowers in front of him. Snapdragons for ‘you lied to me’, peonies for ‘I’m angry at you’ and yellow carnations for ‘disappointment’. If he figured out how to co-ordinate them it would definitely be alluring despite its brutal meaning.

He kindly left out the lilies.

Yuri had said he didn’t hate this man. In fact, Otabek would say Yuri cared deeply for him if he was going to carry flowers all the way to Japan for him. It was a reckless move. Was Yuri packing to leave now?

Otabek felt his heart tug. It was probably because he knew he wouldn’t see his idol up close again. That was all.

He always saw Yuri in the most unexpected of places. The first time they met was actually at a ballet class – not that Yuri remembers. But Otabek remembered clearly how this younger boy completely dominated the class with his elegance. His legs were always at the perfect angle, his posture always upright and his expression serious. He went about ballet the way a soldier would. Otabek couldn’t begin to catch up. Soon enough, he quit ballet.

It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed by Yuri’s talent. Impressed, certainly, but he wasn’t afraid to challenge him. He was excited at the prospect of sharing the ice with such a controlled person, except he knew that continuing ballet wasn’t going to help him surpass Yuri.

But at some point on that journey to the top, Yuri became untouchable. He was an ethereal figure, meant only for reference. During competitions, Otabek only watched from the furthest row.

Otabek wouldn’t be able to watch him anymore.

Although he barely knew Yuri, he didn’t want him to move to another country for a man who broke his promise. If anything, Yuri ought to remain in St Petersburg. He should move on (if that man was his lover). He was only sixteen, with achievements that some could only dream of. He had so much potential. Why throw all that away for a liar?

Otabek squeezed the flowers together. It looked vaguely like a bouquet. If it was meant to be angry, why go through such an ordeal to make it beautiful?

His parents would kill him if he said that. They always tried to instil in Otabek the importance of art, especially for flowers. But Otabek remembered resenting this flower shop. People called him ‘girly’ so he stopped doing ‘girly’ things like flower arranging and began riding a motorcycle and listening to rock to be more ‘manly’. How wrong that was. He was whoever he wanted to be.

He sighed as he unbound the flowers. Colour co-ordination first.

It was strange how the more he looked at the flowers, the more frustrated he got. He kept thinking about what Yuri would do with them. Would he really go to his doorstep and toss them at him? What would he say? Would that man even understand the meaning?

Probably not.

Who bothers with things like that? Everyone just focuses on the aesthetic and that was the sad truth.

Yet Yuri had come in asking about how to convey feelings through flowers first. Surely that meant something. Surely it meant that Yuri cared about flowers like Otabek did.

That was a stupid thought.

Otabek groaned inwardly. He hated being distracted. If he didn’t like how Yuri was handling the situation, he should just tell him. No, that was wrong too. Who wants a stranger to criticise their actions? Especially since Yuri was going to pay Otabek for his services.

Perhaps a little too roughly, Otabek rearranged the flowers. He added some extra flowers to balance out the shape. He even made sure to wrap it up so it would survive the travel.

What Yuri Plisetsky did with it was none of his business. 

* * *

When Otabek arrived at the flower shop the next morning, Yuri was already outside. He was the only bright figure amongst the grey streets of St Petersburg; leaning on the glass, hood up, earphones in and looking like he was ready to rob someone – rather successfully considering the way he dressed.

As quickly as he could, he parked the motorcycle and threw off his helmet.

“Yuri,” Otabek greeted him curtly.

He lifted his head and smiled at Otabek in a way he could only describe as endearing.

‘Does he always treat people like this?’ Otabek thought, ‘Especially employees from a flower shop he met yesterday.’

“Otabek,” he exclaimed excitedly. Then he looked at the helmet in his arms. “You ride?”

He jerked his thumb towards his motorcycle. It looked pretty impressive among the beaten cars. Otabek always made sure that his motorcycle was well-maintained. It filled him with pride as he watched Yuri light up like a child during Christmas.

“That’s so cool.”

Something inside him wanted to invite Yuri for a ride. They wouldn’t have to do anything drastic, just enjoy the crispy morning. That would be too much. Yuri was only a customer. He needed to get that through his head.

“Did you manage to get that bouquet?”

He nodded and noticed the bulky suitcase by his side. It made his heart clench even though it had no right to.

“I came a little early. I forgot to check the opening times. My flight’s in the late afternoon though so I won’t be late.”

Otabek nodded again. If he opened his mouth, he might try to convince Yuri not to go to Japan. Then Yuri would probably get angry and walk out, Otabek would never see him again and he would have lost a good customer.

Yup, his imagination seemed to have strengthened in the past few hours.

He unlocked the door and didn’t bother flipping the sign. He walked straight to the back and lifted up the large bouquet he created yesterday. They seemed brighter now that it had time to mature together, like a relationship formed between them.

Yuri was typing something into his phone when Otabek showed him the bouquet.

“Wow! This looks so much better than I hoped. It’s amazing. Do all these flowers mean the same thing?”

Otabek gave a firm nod, holding back the urge to explain each and every one of the flowers to him. Yuri would definitely listen. He wouldn’t think it was strange or girly.

“It seems like such a waste on a person like Victor,” grimaced Yuri, “He’s completely oblivious. He might think this is a compliment or something.”

Victor. So that was the other man’s name. It rang bells in Otabek’s head but he couldn’t quite place it. He personally didn’t know anybody by the name of Victor but it sounded so familiar…

“It’s almost like he’s forgotten I exist. I’ve been replaced by another Yuri,” he huffed, “A Japanese alcoholic stripper. He cries in bathrooms after screwing up. He’s a waste of time.”

Otabek frowned a little but didn’t question it.

“Victor was supposed to coach me here in St Petersburg. I’ve always accomplished everything he asked and now this happens.”

Ah.

It suddenly clicked.

Victor Nikiforov, the five-time consecutive winner of the World Championships. He was the epitome of figure skating. No wonder Yuri was upset. If Otabek was given the chance to be coached by _the_ Victor Nikiforov – no, he couldn’t think like that. This was Yuri’s problem first and foremost.

To Yuri, Victor was more than a skating superstar. No matter how uncomfortable that made him, he felt the need to resolve the tension.

“Not many people get the message behind flowers. You should tell him yourself, about how you feel.”

Yuri blinked several times. He was staring at him with such bewildered eyes that Otabek was afraid he had still somehow managed to offend him.

“You’re right,” he mumbled, “You’re right. I should tell him… No, I should demand that he teach me. He made me a promise and he should honour it. I won’t let him abandon me. But I’m still going to take these flowers.”

Otabek felt like the conversation had whirled the wrong way. He was supposed to tell Yuri that he didn’t need to have Victor Nikiforov to coach him to be a figure skater.

“How much do I owe you?”

But before Otabek could come up with a price, Yuri had dumped some money on the counter. It was much more than the average cost of a bouquet.

“Just take it. I need to swap to Japanese currency anyway,” he shrugged, “And you’ve helped me out a lot.”

Otabek would have protested but then Yuri was speaking again.

“I can’t give up here. I have to make it to the Grand Prix. No, I have to win it. Then I’ll get to the World Championships. And I have to make sure I beat Victor. I’ll beat him.”

His determination was contagious. Otabek felt himself rooting for Yuri, hoping that he managed to change Victor’s mind. He hoped Yuri achieved his goal. But more than that, he wanted to achieve them himself. He wanted to get back on the ice.

Yuri smiled somewhat sheepishly as he took the bouquet. “Anyway, thanks. I really appreciate it, Otabek. I feel like I know what to do now.”

Otabek opened his mouth to reply that he felt the same way, but as quick as he’d come, Yuri disappeared again. Presumably for the last time in Otabek’s life. 

* * *

Otabek was chugging his water when he heard that Yuri Plisetsky had lost to a Yuri Katsuki in Japan which meant he would not be coached by Victor Nikiforov.

“So what’s he doing?” asked the nosy girl, tugging on her skates.

The other was busy scrolling through her phone. “Presumably back in Russia to train. It’s such a waste. If Victor Nikiforov trained him, he’d destroy all competition. I guess this makes this season more interesting.”

“But Victor won’t be skating,” she whined but Otabek stopped listening.

He was angry. He felt undermined. No, it wasn’t that. Anger didn’t bounce around the pit of his stomach like this. It couldn’t motivate him. Otabek was excited.

His feet found themselves on the ice again. The blisters were forming and stinging each time he moved but he needed to make up for lost time. He’d have to call his coach to vamp up his training too. All this energy could be concentrated on perfecting his routine. He was adamant that he get into the Grand Prix this year. He wasn’t about to give up, not if Yuri wasn’t.

He would return with a vengeance. Otabek couldn’t lose to that. He would make Yuri look at him properly this time, not as some employee at the flower shop.

Recently, he had dabbled in classical music. He was quite a fan of it: Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin. But he was extremely interested by Tchaikovsky’s ‘Waltz of the Flowers’. It was written for a ballet and seemed perfect for a skating program.

Every movement had to be graceful. The soft introduction would be a peaceful interpretation. Otabek imagined Yuri could probably achieve the effect much better than he could right now but he tried his utmost. He would get better too.

He let the music in his head guide him. When the crescendo hit, he threw himself in a series of spins. The ornamentation was difficult to keep in time with. Otabek could feel his entire body straining. He was going out of sync even with this predictable step.

He stopped after a failed salchow.

Pulling himself up from falling was never the hard part despite what other sportsmen told him. No, it was telling himself to try again that was the most difficult. Only recently did he think of a way to counter it. He would remind himself of what Yuri had said when he chased after Victor.

As Otabek glided slowly across the ice to begin again, he was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek. It was that phone-girl from before, only now she was jumping up and down and pointing.

“It’s Yuri Plisetsky! Oh my god, it’s really him. It’s Yuri Plisetsky.”

Otabek immediately followed the direction she was pointing at. A crowd had already formed but he caught a glimpse of bright blond hair. That was enough for him to tug off his skates and rush over to the bombarded idol.

All he could hear was the snap of cameras, the yelling of rabid fans and grunts of ‘Stop!’ Somehow, Otabek cut through the craze of it all. He never paused to consider it might not be Yuri or that he might not want his help or even that he wasn’t prepared to see him again. In a rush of adrenaline, he grabbed the young boy’s hand. Then he was sprinting.

Nothing really registered in his mind. Only when he reached his motorcycle did Otabek turn around to honestly face the person he saved.

This was unmistakably Yuri Plisetsky, all the way from his cheetah-print hood to his studded boots. But his face was contorted in a way Otabek had never seen before. He was somehow excited, shocked and upset all at the same time.

"Otabek?”

He heard the hoard of fans screaming, clawing their way out of the rink. His instinct was telling him to run first, explain later, so he tossed Yuri the spare helmet.

"Are you coming or not?"

Yuri didn't even miss a beat. Before he knew it, his arms were wrapped around Otabek and the wind was beating against their face.

Otabek couldn't remember the last time he had another passenger. Maybe Yuri was the first one. He didn't know how he felt about the pressure of another person behind him. Yuri's long hair tickled the back of his neck. It felt foreign yet comfortable.

As they rode further away from the rink, Otabek felt Yuri's hold loosen. It felt like Yuri was saying something but he couldn't hear it. Otabek focussed on where to go. He knew St Petersburg relatively well but where could they go to hide from the stampede?

He settled on a quiet street, far from the tourist sites. The houses here weren't quite as attractive as the other furnished buildings. This area reminded him of Kazakhstan. No matter where he travelled, how beautiful other cities were, he always loved home more.

"Thanks," Yuri mumbled once he shook off the helmet.

Otabek nodded in return.

“So... you skate?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very good at it. The routine you were skating was very polished. You didn’t waste a single step.”

Otabek felt his jaw slacken at the thoughtful comments. Was Yuri watching him closely or was this how genius skaters analysed others? Either way, Otabek felt awed.

"You know who I am then.”

The tone of Yuri’s voice was cold.

"We met once at a training camp about five years ago."

"I don't remember."

Otabek smiled to himself. Of course he didn't. He was much too concentrated on perfecting ballet positions.

Yuri took a deep breath. "So you probably know about Victor."

“I heard today.”

“I only came back a few days ago. I wanted to thank you for the flowers but your parents told me you don’t normally work there. They said you would be here. You could have told me you were a skater…” Yuri trailed off and Otabek felt the slightest hint of guilt.

“I lost.”

Otabek stared at Yuri but his expression didn’t change. Pure determination.

“But I’m going to work even harder on my own. I’m going to crush that fat piggy. And then they’ll both be sorry.”

That was probably Yuri Katsuki he was talking about.

“Did he understand you were upset?”

“Maybe. He’s too obsessed with him to care though,” Yuri let out a sigh and turned to him, “But I didn’t give Victor the flowers. I carried them all the way to Hasetsu before deciding. You were right. He wouldn't get it. I kept them instead. They started to wilt in Japan so I tried preserving them. They really motivated me while I was there. It didn't make my defeat feel so bad."

"You motivated me to qualify this year."

Yuri looked confused for once. His eyes were completely furrowed and it made Otabek want to laugh a little.

"I skate for Kazakhstan but I haven’t been back to my home rink for quite a few years. You made me want to skate in the Grand Prix this year."

"Oh."

They stayed quiet. Otabek wasn't quite sure what to say. He felt like he had told Yuri more things than he had to his parents for the past year but he didn’t feel vulnerable nor understood. It only felt... nice.

"I'm your rival then."

He considered the term. Yuri was definitely a rival in terms of skating competition but that wasn't what he wanted. He couldn't quite name it but the closest thing he could relate it to was...

"Let's be friends.”

Otabek held out his hand.

He was certain about it. He wanted to get to know Yuri even if they would face off at the Grand Prix. He wanted to spend more time with him.

Yuri shook his hand with a firm grip. Then he gave Otabek another warm smile.

“Alright. We’re friends.”

“If you liked those flowers, I could always bring you some.”

“Maybe not the same ones.”

Otabek agreed. He’d find prettier, more meaningful flowers. At least he didn’t read all those books for nothing.

“Don’t you thinking gifting people with flowers is…?”

“Is?”

Yuri shook his head. “It’s cool. Flowers are really cool. Otabek, you’re cool.”

Otabek felt the corners of his lips tilting up. He never imagined Yuri to be so full of compliments when he had come into the flower shop cussing.

“You too.”

Yuri’s cheeks were tinted pink.

“Um, so I looked up the meaning of the flowers. You told me most people don’t so I thought I’d give it a shot. You’re very good at it. I don’t understand flowers.”

“Neither do I.”

“What? You don’t speak flower?”

“I read a book on it. I don’t know them that well.”

“So… did you deliberately leave in a gardenia?”

“For your bouquet, it should have been geraniums, snapdragons, peonies and yellow carnations.”

“So you didn’t mean to put it in?”

Yuri looked slightly disappointed. It urged Otabek to think when he could have snuck another flower in…

“I did put one in.”

“You did?”

“When I was finishing off. I thought you might like it. It’s not meant for Victor.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. He hadn’t given those flowers much thought. Plus, the bouquet had looked a little too colourful so he had chosen a lighter colour to balance it out. But he did think that Yuri would appreciate it.

That seemed to be the correct answer since Yuri let out a relieved sigh.

“Good. I wouldn’t want Victor to – coz I’m not – not that he would know but – well. It’s fine. Thanks again. I know my way back from here. I’ll see you again, Otabek. At the Grand Prix. I won’t lose to you either.”

And Yuri left again, only this time Otabek didn’t feel so lonely.

* * *

Everybody has one of those nights where you are just about to drift off but a sudden thought rouses you from the drowsiness. Tonight, gardenias were the culprit.

Otabek sighed as he sat himself up.

There was no point trying to force himself to sleep; he may as well put his mind into action. Why had that single flower been the one to grab Yuri’s attention?

Since Yuri researched the meanings, it must be that the gardenia meant something unexpected. (At least Otabek was certain it wouldn’t be negative connotations.) But Otabek had a bad feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. Had he accidentally ruined the whole thing by carelessly adding a flower?

Hesitantly, Otabek searched up ‘meanings of gardenias’.

If he didn’t do this, he may as well give up on the idea of sleep. It was too late to try and contact Yuri anyway. It would seem odd if he pestered him about flowers that he had put in himself.

His eyes skimmed down the list of websites. At random, he selected one. The internet could never really be trusted when it came to information like this but Otabek felt sure that Yuri must have looked at these.

He pressed on the first link.

As if his phone had bitten him, he chucked it to the other side of the room. His heart-rate was increasing.

No wonder Yuri didn’t want Victor to misunderstand. Otabek was getting the full experience now. He felt like he ought to call Yuri and explain. But what was there to explain? He had already said it was intentional and Yuri had accepted it.

But strangely enough, he wasn’t completely distraught. It might even be better this way. Friendships ought to begin positively. What was more positive than this?

_Meaning of a gardenia: you are lovely, secret love._

It wasn’t far from the truth.


End file.
